Skin Deep
by HugAZombie
Summary: UNBETA'd. Non magical AU. Slash. "A paraplegic. A coffee boy. And a reminder that love isn't just for the able-bodied."
1. The Paraplegic

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__So new story. One warning: Arthur may be a little OOC – tell me if you think he is. He will come more in character later. This was inspired by the general lack of disability in the fandom world – not so much in this fandom, but I see it a lot in, say Naruto fandom. There are plenty of car crashes and accidents, but they only ever end in blindness or a broken leg or a coma or, you know, death of a secondary character – and I am not saying these things do not happen, but if it is as serious a crash as the writers make it out to b, it is quite likely someone will come out with a permanent disability, whether physical or mental. _

_Based around a family friend(he is thirty or so, bless him. Loveliest bloke you'd ever meet) – so most of what I get I have gotten from observations and conversations with my father, who is a paraplegic. My friend isn't nearly as better as Arthur seems in this chapter, but then Arthur has been in this condition for only two or so years and the friend is going on thirteen years or so._

_It will be six parts long. _

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><p><strong>The Paraplegic<strong>

**1/6**

What he hates most are the stares, the pitying stares of the able bodied as if sitting in a wheelchair makes him somehow less of a man. Their eyes, women especially, maybe drawn to his face to begin with, travel his body and find withering legs and a metal frame and the look in their eyes that may once have been a little interested, blank out complexly into a misplaced sympathy. Ugly pity that makes his skin crawl with anger and disgust.

He doesn't _need_ their fucking sympathy, he needs their _normalcy_. He needs to feel like the hulking skeleton of his wheelchair does not make him some kind of unapproachable creature, that it doesn't make him different and hideous and something to keep your distance from because, heaven forbid, his disability may be contagious.

He has become a pariah. People no longer know how to communicate with him, as if the mere suggestion of his past as a freely walking man or their own ability to run or jump or not have the fear of not reaching a toilet in time before their fucking _bladder_ gives up all pretence of control will somehow make him feel _bad_ or _down_ about his situation.

And obviously, the poor little cripple has had enough shit in his life without _that_.

So they don't communicate at all – as if avoiding him will erase the discomfort of reality. Women he was once quite comfortable flirting with on the trains or in coffee shops now throw him a wary smile and hurry through the mandatory interactions.

He knows, he thinks with a sigh, he knows they are simply at a loss at dealing with him because how do you deal with a man who has gotten into an accident? How do you talk to a man who is near wheelchair bound and had been, just two years prior, able to walk? They have never coped with something like it; they cannot _possibly_ guess just what changes, both physical and emotional, he has gone through.

Rationally, he _knows _that.

Emotionally, however, it just makes the situation so much harder to cope with.

He scrubs a tired hand down his face before dropping his hands into his lap. Seated at a table, he gazes out of the window, a steaming coffee (black as sin and as bitter as he feels) staring at him silently. Around him there is the low hum of conversation and the rumbling growl of the machine. A baby cries just behind him and he hears the mother shush it before continuing with her conversation.

He watches the world move outside with ease in the lazy day. The elderly shuffle along on their daily, mid-morning walks, mothers push prams with that single mindedness only frazzled mother well aware of the tight schedule enforced by school days possess.

Before his accident, Arthur would be working, overlooking proposals and cases. He had once been a very good prosecutor, renowned for his many wins in even the most trying of cases. But then he had gotten a little cocky on a motorbike in the country lanes, rounded a corner a little too fast for a wet day and paid the price for his folly.

He accepted his fault a few months after getting out of hospital, he had also accepted his disability – no Pendragon would be seen to be in denial.

He had had to give up his job – medical retirement his father had called it. He knew it was his fathers' own way of helping him, giving him some less to worry about whilst he was still healing and getting used to his near useless legs, but it had still panged his heart just a little bit. And now he filled his days with not a lot. Most of his friends were working during the day, and whilst he will often visit family and friends in the evening to break the monotony, he has very little to make of his day.

Which leads him here, to his usual spot in the small family-owned coffee lounge with a slowly cooling coffee and a wandering mind. It gives him an out of the flat he owns (luckily no move was required for now, because, as all newly furbished establishments are meant to be, it was fully wheelchair friendly), which during the first few months of his recovery was slowly driving him insane and have continued to do so.

He turns his eyes away from the window and sips his coffee. He smiles at the taste – one of the better coffees in this area – he had to hand to them. The coffee lounge is a comfortable place, and when Lancelot had first dragged him in here, Arthur remembers eyeing it with a hint of disdain. It wasn't the usual place he would go. It was family-friendly, with comfy armchairs and round tables and strange, abstract art on the walls. The colourings were comforting, warm browns and greens. It wasn't classy, it was far from sophisticated, but there was just something about it, a homeliness Arthur unused to, that struck a chord with him and kept him coming back.

"You finished with that?" Arthur looks to the boy who interrupted him. A dark haired man only a few years his junior he guessed with startling blue eyes set in a face a little to pale to be strictly healthy. Merlin – last name unknown and Arthur didn't particularly care to find out.

He is a strange boy. He had been working here for a while before Arthur started frequenting this place and was one of the only few people who didn't seem to hold any pity in his eyes after he came back. Strategically, the boy didn't inquire to Arthur's extended absence as he had heard the boy ask of other obvious regulars, and Arthur had seen his eyes glance at his chair. But, surprisingly the boy hadn't faltered in his rehearsal of Arthur's order, his eyes hadn't flashed with that hated pity or uncomfortable wariness, and his cheeky (whether intentional or not) grin remained firmly in place.

Arthur nods his head. "Yes, thank you." Merlin smiles at him leaning to grab the empty mug of his previous coffee, a damp cloth in his other hand and the black rectangular apron tied around his too slim waist.

"What's eating you?" His head is tilted to the side in query. "You have a cloud over your head as black as sin."

Arthur grits his teeth. "I'm fine," he answers, stiltedly. And Merlin backs away, hands, still clutching the mug and cloth, held in front in surrender. "Just asking." He shrugs, a flash of faint hurt flitting in his eyes before it is gone in an instant and Arthur is certain he was imagining things. Merlin smiles a sheepish half smile and disappears just as he is hailed by a brunette behind the counter, leaving Arthur once again alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>The lift doors slide open, the mechanical feminine voice overhead announcing their arrival. Arthur pushes out of the tight space with ease, fingers curled around the metal bars tracing the circular wheel and pushing forward down the hall, his wheels making twin indents in the plush carpet at he moves. He pauses at his door, unhooking his keys from his belt and slotting it into the lock.<p>

He frowns when the key refuses to turn anymore and eases the door open curiously. "Father?" he calls out as it takes back his key and pushes inside. He closes the door behind him. "Morgana?" He slides down the seat slightly, his feet planted on the floor before he stands. His knees buckle automatically, bend to support his weight. The join in the callipers supporting his useless ankles squeak a little and he glares down at them in annoyance.

Bloody things. He oils them, but that only buys him a few weeks silence. He would really need to talk to the hospital about that, see if there is anything they can do.

"Nah, mate. It's me." Arthur looks up, eyeing his friends leaning in the doorway of the kitchen with one of Arthur's beers open and half empty in his hands. He rolls his eyes.

"Of course it is," Arthur drawls, leaving his wheelchair where it is, opting to move it later – or Lancelot can when he leaves, whichever. "You know, I didn't give you a key so you can drink all of my beer." His look is disapproving even as he walks, his movement still not truly perfected and unused to his altered body to the wooden railing that now line his home.

His walk is odd. Not the old swagger he used to have. The break to the lower quarter of his spine has all but ruined his legs, his ankles are useless and his feet void of all feeling. His legs are skinny, he lost the muscle after the accident (and also the rather nice bum he once had as well), and feeling only really comes back past the knee and even then not as the extent an able-bodied man might have. As his knees were also fairly useless, walking for him consisted more of tensing his stomach muscles and using his hips to move his legs.

It was a difficult thing to get used to, as the shoes he wore (horrible trainers ordered in by the hospital – two years since he wore decent shoes... he misses them) had to have thicker soles, about an inch, so that the metal casing and slot for his callipers could be made and not affect the shoe.

He holds onto the railing, wondering if he should've stayed in the wheelchair – he forgets even now sometimes that he has to work up his stamina once more, for walking as he does now requires a lot more effort than it ever had two years prior.

Lancelot only laughs and holds the bottle up to him. "Ah, but this is a celebration, Arthur," he answers, ducking back into the kitchen before returning with a second bottle and a bottle opener. He then motions with his head towards the living room, which the hall bleeds into, a nice open plan space with an office space in front of the large bay window. Arthur smiles at him, using the railing before walking without aid to the sofa and collapsing into it.

Lancelot places his friends' beer on the side with a dull thump and settles back into the opposite corner of the sofa, as Arthur bends to let up his trouser legs, unwrap the Velcro fasting and slide both the shoe and calliper from his legs. "What's the occasion?"

"I asked Gwen to marry me." He takes a sip of beer. "She said yes."

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised really. She can't have me, might as well go for second best."

Lancelot chuckles. "Bastard."

No really," Arthur reaches out and the men clasp each other's wrists in a variation of the more traditional handshake. "Congratulations, took you long enough."

Lancelot grins at him and nods. "Yeah, thought she might say no." He shrugs and takes another sip of acohol.

"Come crawling to me, yeah, I'd be worried too," he preens, ducking away from the blow Lancelot aims at him with a laugh. "When's the date?"

"Hell if I know. I just asked her, I'll leave the rest to her."

Arthur snorts. "As if, you'll be right beside her picking out flowers – bloody pansy." Arthur's grin is wicked as he leans over and presses his thumb to Lancelot's forehead. "You'll be like that forever now, mate. Totally whipped."

Lancelot bats his hand away and rolls his eyes. "Don't be jealous now Arthur, you're still the prettiest girl I know."

Arthur shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Damn straight I am, and Gwen knows it too." The men stare at each other for the moment, before the previous quiet of the flat is completely broken with a childish bout of uncontrollable laughter that comes from nowhere.

* * *

><p><em>Callipers:<em> ./imgres?imgurl=.&imgrefurl=.&usg=_8FLLei8tCEY5a0lAKcGJ_kklyL4=&h=386&w=151&sz=12&hl=en&start=54&zoom=1&tbnid=8max20JpXyxf- M:&tbnh=140&tbnw=55&ei=hVICTqCWBZK7hAeTycShDQ&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dcallipers%2Bfor%2Bthe%2Bdisabled%2Blegs%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DY6U%26rls%:en-GB:official%26channel%3Ds%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D615%26tbm%3Disch&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=477&page=4&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:17,s:54&tx=35&ty=60&biw=1280&bih=615

_Take out the space, and my friends' and therefore Arthurs, are shorter, without the bulk at the top. They end at the middle strap that goes below the knee._

_LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINk PLEASE. :]_


	2. The Coffee Boy

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__Thank you to everyone who read this, I was really worried about the feedback I may get, considering the subject. Thank you guys so much, really does mean a lot to me. So yeah, thanks a lot. _

_My only excuse for the obscene lateness is that I was ill. Like, really ill. Sorry. I hope you like this – I'm a bit unsure. But blergh, I always will be unsure of my own work. As long as you guys enjoy it, it's all good. _

_Be as brutally honest as possible :]_

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><p><strong>The coffee boy<br>[2/6]**

Kuppa Koffee coffee lounge has, somehow along the way, become almost a second home. Merlin isn't sure whether that is a good thing or not – on the plus side he can get food without having to pay a dime. But then it is also his work and the fact that his work, whether it is run by his best-friends' family or not, has become a second home is probably something that is cause for worry.

Even Will says so, and it's his family's business.

There is a faint chill in the morning air that Merlin hadn't accounted for when he left earlier, fooled by the clear sky. The breeze, gentle as it is, nips at his skin like a needle, mocking him for his thoughtlessness. If Merlin were the type, he might've cursed his misfortune, but he sees very little value in it. Why ruin a good day for something so trivial? He doesn't believe in grudges and tries his hardest not to judge and to please everyone.

Most would mistake this as a brainless naivety, an uncommon blindness to the realities of life but he doesn't think so. Merlin knows well that some people cannot be saved, that not all actions can be forgiven, and some people just do not have 'good side' to be sought out. He knows when anger is deserved and deceit required.

He is not stupid. Just optimistic, and possibly lazy because he finds harbouring negative feelings such an exhausting chore, a pointless endeavour that wastes energies that could be used elsewhere on more important people like friends or family, or into other tasks like work or relaxing.

Most find his laid-back attitude and seemingly endless optimism a little hard to understand. Will is one such person, despite their closeness, he will never truly understand Merlin's distaste for grudges (the sandy-haired boy can hold a wicked grudge that Merlin is very glad he has not yet had the misfortune to endure). But he has an ally in his good friend Gwen, a wonderful dark-haired beauty he befriended quite by accident whilst lost one day when he first arrived here and wondered into the local florist.

She understands his optimism because she views the world in a similar way. Some say it is through the eyes of a child, but Merlin thinks not. Merlin thinks like see the world on a level beyond most others who are too tied down by the small, irritating things and never focus on the bigger picture. Perhaps slightly egotistical, but his belief nonetheless.

When he reaches the coffee lounge, his arms are coated in goose flesh and there is a slight tremor to his body. He tries the back door curiously and smiles when he finds it open – so they remembered this morning to unlock the door for their poor employees. He crosses the threshold with ease, hearing the rumble of the kettle from the kitchen, one door down. There is a low murmuring coming from that direction also, a sweet high voice and a lower reply.

Will's mother and the boy himself no doubt. She is probably finishing off the cakes to be put on display today – if Merlin is lucky and sales down on the confectionary he might be able to take home a slice or two for desert. Merlin knows Gaius would appreciate it, if he isn't slinking off to Alice's for dinner, like a wily old fox.

Merlin grins. Old as he is Gaius, apparently, still has a little life left in him if the eyes he has been making at the elderly woman who works at the library is any indication. Merlin would've found it cute, if it wasn't his uncle. The thought of Gaius engaging in such activities is... disturbing at the very least, and not conducive to keeping breakfast down.

He shrugs the thought off just as he shimmies his light jacket down his arms and throws it carelessly over a hook – it misses, and slides down the wall in a pathetic droop but Merlin doesn't bother to correct it. He simply waves a dismissing hand in its direction; a little rest on the floor will hardly do the well worn, well loved jacket any harm considering what else it has been through, and heads towards the kitchen.

He shoulders his way into the room. "Morning," he smiles. Will, long time friend, even after they moved from the little country village Ealdor where they had grown up to big, bad London, finally tempting Merlin away from his own meaningless existence there with promises of adventure in the city.

He has yet to see any of that promised adventure, really.

Will waves a hand at him whilst his mother beams and motions the dark haired boy over so that she may give him a proper Dempsie* welcome – a spine cracking hug from a surprisingly strong, deceptively small woman. Merlin endures the embrace with the grace of someone quite used to bouts of mild suffocation and hugs the woman back with as much enthusiasm but without the element of danger.

His secondary family, a home away from home.

"How's Hunith?" the same mandatory inquiry, as if Merlin has yet to snap the umbilical cord – he is not Will, he thinks cheekily, smirking at the man in question. Will just glowers at him as if he can hear just what Merlin is saying. Probably can, it isn't the first time Merlin has teased him for still snapping at his mothers' ankles, completely ignoring the fact that Mummy Dempsie is a force to be reckoned with and does not let go easily.

Blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he smartly dodges a snide attack to his shoulder (he has gotten good at dodging, has to be because his punches are definitely not up to par), and shrugs.

"When I last spoke to her she was doing well. Got an admirer apparently, the gardener she says." Will snorts from behind him and Merlin throws a glance over his shoulder. He, himself, isn't sure if he is happy with the news or not. But the cliché alone is enough to bring a smile.

Mrs Dempsie is nodding vigorously. "Good, good," she says as he turns back to finish icing the last bit of the coffee cake cooling on the side. "Your mother is good woman, too good a woman to be left alone." Merlin agrees with the sentiment if not the actuality.

"Oh, look at that Ma," Will goads with a smile, slinking behind his mother as cheap protection even as he points to his dark haired friend. "I don't think Merlin's is too impressed. Not thinking of interfering, are you Merlin? Not going to go all big, bad son on him, are you?" His grin is wicked as the woman whips around, icing spatula waving threateningly in his face.

Merlin jumps back to avoid a vicious swipe.

"Don't you dare Merlin Balinor Emrys." Merlin cringes at his full name, and ducks his head shamefully as is expected, all the while throwing glares at Will who is sniggering behind his mothers' back like a child. No one would believe they were twenty years old. "Your ma deserves all the happiness she can get, and if this man is giving her just that you better leave well enough alone, boy. You understand?"

Merlin blinks a bit, unsure if that is a purely rhetorical question or if she is expecting a response. "Yes?"

"Especially now that you've left, she is all alone in that house of hers and that is just not right. I know, she still loves your father, and he was a bloody good man, a deserving man, but your mother is just as good if not better and she was not meant to lead a lonely life. You've grown up, are going about your own life and so help me boy, if you disrupt her chance to have the world again, I'll _brain_ you."

Merlin risks a glance up, all big blues and contriteness. "Yes, Ma'am." Mrs. Dempsie looks him over, before a beaming smile breaks out over her face.

"You're a good lad, you are. If only my Will could be more like you."

Merlin smirks at his friend as he pushes by to grab a few things before leaving out the front. "Yeah, _Will_, why _can't_ you be more like me?" He is still chuckling as he ducks out of the room and Will is getting his ear chewed for running in the kitchen.

Life is good.

* * *

><p>There is a steady flow of customers throughout the day – a pattern to just that turns up for a drink. The mornings usually have an influx of the elderly catching up over tea and a light treat, their trolleys and bags tucked in as tight as possible to the tables and easily charmed by Merlin's winning smile and mile-a-minute chatter.<p>

The early to late afternoons on a weekday, usually bring in the mothers and prams, maybe a few fathers.' Small families crowd around the tables, unsatisfied children pout and whine or chuckle and babble to themselves, babies scream or giggle and gurgle. The mothers and sometimes, fathers, are mostly weary looking but happy – usually. There has been the odd awkward moment where halfway through an order a mother will snap at her child, yank their arm and then be extra short with Merlin – who keeps the smile on his face and works quickly. It also sees a few people from the surrounding businesses popping in for their breaks – most of them up for a good chat.

On the weekend, that time period will also see a flooding of teenagers, looking for a milkshake or hot chocolate, who laugh and jeer and text along the comfy sofa's fitted on the sides. The girls try their hand at friendly flirting with Will and Merlin – Merlin is a little oblivious to this, just smiles at them and chats away, Will on the other hand flirts right back and if there are over eighteen, is quite happy to take a name and number , as long as his mother is not within earshot.

Finally there is closing time and they are bombarded by harried businessmen and women looking for a caffeine fix to last them the commute home, or to just give them a breather, a break from the office where they don't have to do anything. They are usually not the most sociable, a bit tired from the day's work, or distracted, eyes glazed with thoughts.

He is currently working the last of the morning shift – there are only a few elderly couples, old friends and partners, lingering in the place when Gwen turns up, grin beautiful and skin glowing. Merlin is finishing a transaction with a pleasant old lady, barely taller than an adolescent and a little shaky to boot, promising in a warm voice to bring her order over to save her the trouble when she prances over and flashing that bright smile.

"Thank you dear," she answers in a voice as quiet and quivery as her stature would suggest and pats his hand before tottering off to a cosy looking seat in the corner.

"Welcome to Koffee – oh, Gwen. Hey." He smiles. "You want anything?"

She waves her hand dismissively. "No, I just came to tell you the good news."

Merlin raises and eyebrow in question as he places a cup and saucer on a tray. "Good news?" he asks. "You've finally come to your senses and found dating me would be far better choice then Lance?" He wriggles his eyebrows ridiculously.

She giggles. "Oh, if only. But you're not one of those real rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and a girl like me needs someone like that."

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looks around secretively and leans in. "I'm in disguise." Gwen makes a high elongated noise of understanding and nods, smiling.

Then Will bustles past and nudges his friend a little. "Idiocy is not disguise, Merlin; it's an irreversible state of mind."

"Just like your ugliness is the incurable state of your face, right?"

"Oh _har har." _He cuffs Merlin around the head before slipping past him and serving the next customer.

Merlin shakes his head a little, picking the tray off the side. "I'll just deliver this and go on my break then you can tell me," he tells Gwen, who nods and disappears to find a table.

Merlin slides into place a few moments later, out of habit sweeping the table a little of crumbles into a neat pile for him to push into his hand later. "So?"

Gwen takes a big breath and then thrusts her left hand into Merlin's face, wiggling her fingers. Merlin blinks a bit, unsure just what is so fascinating about her hand –

"Oh, that's new," he says taking her hand and examining the ring. "When did he ask?"

"Last night," she beams.

"Took him long enough." Merlin smiles and releases her hand. "Congratulations. Lance is a good bloke." Gwen looks down at her hand, gazing at the ring for a moment as if in disbelief.

"I won't say it was a surprise – Lancelot isn't the best at hiding things. I mean, asking for my ring size is hardly subtle," she grins fondly. "But it was lovely nonetheless. He home cooked a meal and everything."

Merlin snorts. "Old romantic, that one. Make sure he doesn't try to take over the wedding preparations."

"Oh shut up, you. Just because he is secure enough in his masculinity to be romantic and in touch with his feminine side as well."

"Hey," Will brushes past them. "I am plenty in touch with my feminine side, Gwen."

"No, you are plenty in touch with other women's feminine side, you hussy."

Will chuckles and kisses her forehead. "Congrats. I expect an invite pronto – and pretty bridesmaids." He escapes with a cheeky wink and Gwen promising retribution if he even so much as _thinks_ of hitting on her bridesmaids.

* * *

><p>The reason he likes working at the coffee lounge is the repertoire one creates with the regulars. Even those who aren't the most talkative get a little smile when you can recite order perfectly – well most, some get annoyed at the presumption but nod grudgingly nonetheless. But those are few and far between.<p>

One such customer is a blond guy who knows Lancelot somehow. Merlin never caught his name, only knows him a 'Strong, Black Coffee' Guy. He is attractive, in that classical prince-like way. Blond and blue eyed, nice physique, even after the accident. Yeah, Merlin remembers the guy before the few months' absence – if just barely – a few years prior. He had been taller, an inch or so taller than Gwen's Lance, and walked with the expectant swagger of a man who knew exactly just how attractive he was, but that hardly matters. Even after he had returned in a wheelchair, obviously a little uncomfortable with the looks some people – not many, but one or two – gave him he still retained that attractiveness and carried that air of superiority around him.

Only now it is more like a shield then simply a part of him.

He sits now over by the window, his coffee going cold as he stares out the window, obviously deep in thought. And not pleasant ones if he frowns on his face is anything to go by. Merlin shrugs and goes back to cleaning up the table he is at, stacking the plates and cups before sweeping the crumbs into the stack and disappearing out back for a few moments.

He is further distracted by a few more orders, and he only consciously remembers the blond as he passes his table. He pauses. "You finished with that?" Merlin asks, glancing at the coffee mug and back to the blonds' face.

Those blue eyes, a lighter shade then his own and a little colder, Merlin muses, study him for a moment before disregarding him. "Yes, thank you."

He is well spoken, and polite, if a little distant. There is an edge to his voice, a hint to an inner anger or frustration that Merlin could make many guesses at – not that he will.

"What's eating you?" It slips out before Merlin can stop it – his brain-mouth filter has always been a little faulty. Wiring was wrong or something, his mother would say when he was much younger, before pretending to tinker around his head making thoughtful noises before declaring him irreparable but delightfully unique, just to wipe the worried grimace of his face at the news. "You have a cloud over your head as black as sin."

But his inquiry is obviously not appreciated by the blond, if his gritted jaw and narrowed eyes are any indication. "I'm fine." His tone is cold and irritated and Merlin knows he has crossed some invisible line and makes a hasty retreat. He holds up his hands, even the one clutching the mug, in surrender.

"Just asking," he says, an apology in his voice but unspoken, even as the cold tone hurts a bit. Merlin has never appreciated the coldness some voice can get; it makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of an old ex who could be as cruel with his words as he could be sweet. He shrugs a bit, the old hurt of the memory diminishing instantly; as it always does (it is an old wound that healed nicely, if with only a little weeping in his very rare dark days).

Merlin smiles sheepishly, and is about to voice his apology when Mrs. Dempsie calls him over from the counter. He snaps his mouth shut and turns away, Mrs. Dempsie not being a woman to be ignored.

He'll apologise later.

* * *

><p><em>*The surname comes from the actor Joe Dempsie who plays Will. :] Blah. So whatcha think? Oh and direct quotes from 'Dragons Call.'<br>_


	3. The Formal Introduction

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__So here is chapter 3 :] No obscenely long wait for this one. Not like sometimes when motivation is low. :] Thank you for your kind comments and taking the time to read let alone comment and favourite and whatever else. So yeah, big thanks to you all. _

_At the half-way point, and I have at least one one-shot in mind that will be connected to this (the party that is mentioned in the first part – I'm not bothering to write it into the story)_

_Enjoy._

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><p><strong>The Formal Introduction <strong>

**[3/6]**

Uther Pendragon is a complex man and a trial to deal with at the best of times. He holds a great weight in traditions and family, upholding generations' old, and slightly elitist, beliefs and expecting the same respect for such beliefs in his two children.

This is why Arthur currently finds the Sunday dinner he has been required to attend since as long as he can remember, tenser than most other interactions he has with his father, which are usually just fleeting moments of conversation that never stray outside of the comfort zones. It isn't that he doesn't love his father, because he does and he always will, it's just he is an exceedingly difficult man to deal with and even harder to impress, or even please.

That and the bone of contention between them, a Catrina Tregor is also present and attempting to make small talk with both him and Morgana, who looks equally as unimpressed with proceedings. Now, while Arthur will quite happily excuse his fathers' sometimes insensitive behaviour as acceptable, Catrina's misdemeanours are not so easily forgiven. She hasn't done anything personally to him or even Morgana; it is just something about – a glint in the eye that Arthur cannot quite trust.

A sentiment Morgana has agreed on many occasions.

"It's pleasant news about Lancelot and Gwen, isn't it?" Catrina says, with that smile that Arthur dislikes – a forcibly polite one. The dislike is obviously mutual. Not that Arthur cares – as long as her ring finger remains empty and the Pendragon name remains unattached to her, he will be as content as he can be with his fathers' relationship. He is not naive enough to not suspect that his fathers' money might not have something to do with her 'love' for him. Cynical some say, practical says he.

"Yes," it's Morgana who replies, saving Arthur from even having to make an acknowledging grunt. "I don't think I know two people more in love."

"And you and Leon, Morgana," Catrina inquires. "How are you?" Arthur doesn't miss his fathers' slight twitch of the eyebrow – he doesn't outwardly disapprove, but he doesn't approve either. There is tension there, he doesn't truly believe Leon, a mere layman really, is good enough for his socialite, successful daughter. But he won't protest, Morgana is his little darling who can do no wrong, even if she doesn't have much care for him in return.

"We are fine, thank you," she says a little more curtly than the question warranted.

"Any thoughts on moving forward your relationship?"

"Not as of yet, we both have things we want to do." She shrugs, flashing that pleasant smile felled many a man. "We are happy as we are."

"And you Arthur, how are you?" Great, now his father decides to join in the conversation.

"I'm good, father." He smiles; nodding his head a little before taking a bigger gulp of wine then is strictly polite.

"Do you have a date for the birthday party we are throwing for your father in a few weeks?" Catrina asks, something in her tone that instantly gets Arthurs' back up. "I'm sure there is many a girl who would love the pleasure of accompanying you. Or we could organise something, Vivian or Sophia were always very fond of you."

Arthur grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "I'm perfectly capable of finding my own date, thank you Catrina."

The blond woman chuckles, glancing to Uther as if to check his reaction. "Of course you are, I was merely saying that –"

"I know what you were suggesting," Arthur's smile is strained and he curses the light in his fathers' eyes that hints that something has been said that he is considering.

"Perhaps it would be wise to bring Vivian to the party," he intones thoughtfully, "Her father is an influential man and his name associated with ours could be very good for business."

"You can't be suggesting Arthur date a woman to further your career!" Morgana bites out, surprised, as he places her glass back on the table. Arthur isn't, it isn't the first time Uther Pendragon has hints to such a thing, although usually he is more subtle. "He should be able to choose his own partners, because he wants to be with them –"

"Morgana, please." The whole lunch is a charade, and Arthur has become quite tired of it. He doesn't like his love life being discussed at the best of times, let alone with his family. "Father, I will not subject Vivian to that, she should be with someone who genuinely wants to. Catrina, if I wish to bring someone, I will."

The man looks down at his nearly finished dessert, flicks his wrist to catch sight of his watch and looks back at his father. "As much as I would like to continue this, father, I have to leave. Thank you for inviting me and cooking a wonderful dinner." He ducks his head and stands, making his way over to the door, hearing the telltale scrapes of the other chairs, and two sets of footsteps following his lead out into the cool hallway. He leans against the wall and waits for Morgana to join him.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation as Uther appears, bidding his children good bye from both him and Catrina.

Out in the fresh air and ambling towards Morgana's car, Arthur rubs a hand down his face. He slumps in the passenger seat and shakes his head. "Catrina is a troll." Morgana laughs as he pulls out of the driveway.

"Gold digger is more likely." The dark haired beauty shifts gears. "Bitch."

Arthur only grunts in agreement.

* * *

><p>The pub is quiet, which is not surprising for a Sunday evening – there are a few regulars dotted about the bar and occupying one or two of the tables, and the chime of the fruit machine rings out at regular intervals, cutting through the low buzz of conversation and odd, rough laugh as Arthur enters. His eyes skim the bodies in the space, nodding a greeting to the barmaid – a nice girl called Freya – before he spots a familiar dark tousled hair sitting with another dark haired someone that Arthur can only see from behind.<p>

Lancelot notices him almost immediately, probably hearing the jangle of Arthurs' keys where they are clipped to his belt loop and not, Arthur hopes, the irritating squeak of his callipers that he still hasn't gotten around to oiling.

As Arthur approaches, he notices that there is a feminine coat and black handbag he recognises on the table beside Lancelot. So Gwen is here as well.

"Where's Gwen?" he asks, close enough to be heard without needing to raise his voice.

"Toilet," the man answers and Arthur nods, sitting beside the mystery man who has only just looked up. Arthur glances at him, away then glances back.

Ah, coffee boy.

"Hi," the man says with a wave of his head – what was his name again? He really should know, he has been served coffee by him countless of times.

"Hello," is his more sedate reply, not that Merlin – that's it! _Merlin_. Weird arse name, really – seems to mind. His smile is wide and innocent and looks as though it belongs on the face of a child rather than a grown man.

"Arthur, this is Merlin, one of Gwen's close friends," Lancelot says, granting him a glance from Arthur, before the blond nods his head in acknowledgement of the boy – he refuses to call him a man with a grin like that. "Merlin, Arthur."

There is a noise from Merlin. "Black coffee," he says, rubbing his nose with a nod. "Sorry about the other day."

Arthur blinks at him. The other day?

"_What's eating you?" _Ah, yes, the rather tactless prodding into his business as if he has some kind of right. Arthur shrugs it off.

"It's fine." The Merlin character beams at him in that childish way before returning to his conversation with Lancelot just as Gwen appears.

"Arthur," she ducks to kiss his cheek. "Good to see you." He answers likewise and she settles in her seat, sipping a coke delicately. Arthur exchanges mandatory pleasantries with the woman, only half listening to her recounting of her day – her voice is half exasperated, half fond as she talks of shopping with Merlin. A well placed nudge on her part into his ribs, makes the dark haired man snort a little into his drink, and curse.

The expletive sounds strange coming from him, Arthur muses. He seems too... childlike to swear, dressed in a logoed top and bagging jeans, he appears more of a teenager than the twenty-something Arthur guesses him to be.

"As I was saying before someone tried to _choke_ me," Merlin says, sending a mock glare to the dark skinned woman to his right. "Will and me were thinking of bungee jumping or something – you know, one of those extreme time things."

"Why would you want to do that?" Gwen asks, shifting her bag beneath the table.

Merlin shrugs with a carefree grin. "Shits and giggles?"

Lancelot smiles. "You're too carefree Merlin, get some responsibilities."

Merlin looks affronted. "I have plenty of responsibilities – rent, bills..."

"They are not adequate responsibilities, idiot," Arthur drawls, with a smirk, wanting to see his reaction – if the carefree grin would drop or not. He seems too cheery to be real. "They are life."

Merlin waves hand in dismissal. "Are you telling me you wouldn't want to do something like that?"

"I'm not sure I would be able to."

"That's a defeatist attitude, you won't get anywhere it that Arthur."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. Is he really getting lectured by a _boy_?

"It's practical," he argues. And it's Merlin's turn to raise an eyebrow, a surprisingly mature expression on his face. It looks strange on him – he should never look adult, it doesn't suit him.

"Why, 'cause you're in a wheelchair?" he asks, with no subtly or sensitivity. Arthur is surprised. It doesn't annoy him, far from it. The blunt approach is almost... refreshing.

"Partly."

Merlin shrugs with no shoulder. "That means nothing, it shouldn't hold you back. Besides, look at those guys playing wheelchair rugby or basketball – they can't run and they still play sport. Don't let it restrict you."

"Rugby is a little different to bungee jumping."

Merlin looks a little bemused, a small smile playing his face. "Why? I mean, I'm guessing you still have both legs, and if you do, what's the issue? I mean sure, you might have to have different kind of harness but it could work."

The boy holds a good point. "I do have both legs still," he confirms and ignores the rest of the sentence. Merlin laughs. It's a nice noise, and perhaps Arthur might be willing to amend his first observation from back in the coffee lounge that the boy was an idiot.

"Prat, you know I'm right – just admit it."

Maybe not.

"An idiot like you right about something? When Hell freezes over, maybe." Arthur snorts.

"Grab your skates, clotpole," Merlin grins boyishly, "it just happened."

* * *

><p>The evening passes surprisingly quickly, and Arthur finds himself quite enjoying Merlin's company. He is unashamedly brash and outspoken, never hesitating in what he says. He acknowledges Arthur's disability, has even gone as far as to inquire what happened and what exactly was wrong with him with genuine curiosity and none of the pity that often clouds a face when he tells them the story. There is a bit of sympathy in his gaze, but Arthur doesn't call him on it and Merlin doesn't bother to offer any words to acknowledge either.<p>

A character, this Merlin, he thinks. One to keep around if only because his idiocy is entertaining. Merlin is by no means thick, his intelligence glints in his eyes and peaks out from around his humour and witty banter, but his common sense is perhaps leaves a bit to be desired.

And he can get a bit overly passionate about things, blue eyes glittering and hands carelessly gesturing a bit widely until Arthur flicked him upside the head and told him to knock it off, causing Lancelot to grin (especially when Merlin glared at the blond without effect. The Pendragon smirk that he recognised from years of being friends with him firmly in place) and Gwen to look between them with the calculating gaze only women truly possess.

Merlin is the first to leave, checking a battered watch on a wrist that seem to Arthur much too thin. "I'd best be going, I'm on an open tomorrow and Mrs. Dempsie will kill me if I'm late."

He stands; stretching a little to straighten the kinks in is body before grinning. He leans over the table, kissing Gwen's cheek and promising to call her at some point, before clasping Lancelot's offered hand in his own and briefly shaking it.

"Take care you guys," he says before turning to Arthur, holding out his newly freed hand. "Nice to meet you, mate. I guess I'll see you tomorrow as usual?"

Arthur takes the proffered hand with a smile. "If you have a free coffee waiting for me."

"Oh sure," Merlin grins, smiling."If you have a full stamp card, that is."

Arthur laughs and Merlin waves a goodnight before grabbing his coat and disappearing.

"I told you Merlin was an all right bloke," Lancelot says, smile superior, as if often is when Arthur proves him right. Arthur just throws a slightly soggy beer mat at him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: It's 2:30 in the morning, I can't be bothered to read this over for mistakes. I'll do it when I wake up xD<em>

_Hope it was worth the wait, even if the first bit if a bit shit. The last two I like though. _


	4. The Dinner

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__REPOSTED because I made some mistakes about Morgana and Leon. I forgot I had already made them a couple xD My bad. And then reposted again because I am an idiot and forgot some formatting things. SORRY FOR SPAMMING YOU xD _

_This should be finished soon and when it is I shall post a new story, which is approx. 14 chapters called 'On The Beat.' :] When 'Firsts' is finished I'll be posting another six-parter, but it is currently nameless. I am also in the process of writing a short one-shot of their very first meeting, before Arthur's accident (it will only be short) and another that features the party Catrina mentioned in the last chapter._

_Enjoy_

_PS: Please point out any typos, mistakes or general criticisms you may have if you have them :D  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>The Dinner <strong>

**[4/6]**

It's been a few weeks since Arthur had been formally introduced to Merlin and his opinion hasn't changed – he is still a hopeless idiot, although perhaps not quite as hopeless as Arthur had previously believed. He comes into Kuppa Koffee as often as he ever did, during the same sort of period as well.

Sometimes, when the currents of customers are slow, they have whole conversations, only briefly interrupted. They are pleasant conversations, topics breaching from the simplistic like movies, books or music to in depth debates of politics and current events. Sometimes, when Arthur is in the mood and Merlin has the time, they even have those crazy, deep conversations of life and direction and philosophy. But, admittedly, they are few and far between.

He has told Merlin the strangest of things, thoughts and ideas of things he probably wouldn't feel comfortable telling anyone other than Lancelot. They have spoken of love and preferences and ex-partners, of hang-ups and insecurities. Merlin has spoken of his mother and Will and his family, and of his Uncle Gaius who took him in when Ealdor became too small a place to contain his curiosity and need for adventure and variety. Arthur had spoken, grudgingly and with a little coaxing of his own family, warts and all – of his father, his mother and half-sister, of his fathers' new beau and the constant anxieties whenever his fathers' bunk up and irrational anger at him for such actions.

Other times, they may barely even get past Merlin parroting of his order and the brief mandatory greetings before Merlin is whisked off again to do this or get that, to sweep that table or attend that person. Those times, they get the barest of snatches of conversation, mere comments, usually teasing as Merlin sweeps past, balancing crockery on his arms. On these days, even Merlin's break times are limited and conversation small to accommodate.

And all the time, even during those deep conversations of life, there is always that friendly, mocking banter – Merlin's witty intelligence and sharp tongue battling with his own. It makes the conversations interesting, it's interesting to watch what slip-ups or comments Merlin lets slide and what ones he challenges with a quip of his own. It is intriguing to watch his eyes illuminate when they broach a topic he is passionate about, like literature or sociology, the way his cheeks flush a little as he gestures wildly with bony fingers; the way his nose scrunches up a little when Arthur says something he doesn't agree with, a little frown between his brows as he shakes his head. He likes to watch Merlin ready himself for an opposing argument, how he straightens in his seat only to lean forward a bit, or how he chews his lip when he is seriously deliberating Arthurs' own opinion; how his eyes twinkle with a mischievous light and his lips quirk in the beginnings of a boyish grin full of childish charm when Arthur has opened himself up to teasing, how he leans back and relaxes, allowing Arthur to either realise his mistake or dig himself deeper.

And he finds himself further and further confused as he is entrance by this man-child, who can be mature as a wise man and in the next breath regress into the delight of a child. Advice passes his lips as easily as banter, secrets as easily as jokes and pain as easily as joy. He wears his heart on his sleeve, trusting those he meets not to rip into it as soon as they can, guileless prey to an angry predator, and yet Arthur feels none of the disdain he usually does for such people. Before meeting Merlin he found such people foolish, not worth his attention. This world is dog-eat-dog and if they are stupid enough to bare their throat to the predators with no defence, then they deserve what the world serves them.

But Merlin had changed that view. He still finds the concept an odd one, one he could never adopt and most fellows who do the same he will still look down on – but Merlin has offered something, a refreshing insight to the psychology of those people. He can, through Merlin, see the attraction of such a lifestyle, of the freedom and strength it can hone in some people, even if he does not truly understand.

He remembers the very first time he has set eyes on Merlin. If someone had told him then that he would feel the stirrings of attraction to such a man, an attraction that bleeds deeper then something physical, he would've laughed. Lancelot had told him that Merlin was no fool as he had first commented, but Arthur hadn't believed him.

Maybe he should've been more trusting of Lancelot's judge of character. But no matter, he has learnt better now and better late than never, he thinks, now that he has recognised what he might've missed.

"Arthur, are you paying any attention?" Arthur eyes are dragged away from Merlin's figure as he coos over a baby in a pram just a few tables away, boyish grin in place as he talks with the mother – who is most definitely making eyes at him rather shamelessly. It annoys Arthur, which annoys him further. He is perfectly aware of the attraction he feels for the younger man, he also knows Merlin has no preference regarding gender unlike Arthur, who has only brought females to his fathers' gathering to keep the Pendragon Patriarch happy.

He made a promise long ago that when he finds a man he wants to settle down with, _if_ he does, then he will happily introduce them to the family. But until then, he is willing to keep up the charade and keep his personal life as private as possible.

"Who are you staring at?" Morgana's voice once again bleeds through his thoughts and Arthur flicks his gaze to her, keeping it there.

"Just a friend."

She raises an eyebrow disbelievingly, following where his line of sight had once been and catching Merlin as he stands after stroking the babes' cheek and returning to work.

"Oh, the cutie who took our order," she grins at him wickedly from over her hot chocolate. "Arthur, I _approve_."

The blond rolls his eyes. "I hardly need your approval, Morgana." But even as he says it, there is a faint feeling of relief. But he crushes it – it is stupid. He feels an attraction, but he has no idea what Merlin thinks. The boy is, self-admittedly, a little dense when he comes to such things – well, Merlin had used the word oblivious, but that really is just a politer term for dense.

"But it's nice to have," she adds for him, turning in her seat to gaze at the boy in question again and, really, Arthur could strangle her. "Pretty little thing." The comment is almost lazy, off-hand before she turns around again. "Speaking of dating, have you got one for daddy dears'–" she sneers the words, her distaste for their shared father obvious "–birthday?"

Arthur makes a disgruntled noise. "Not yet," he answers. "I'd much rather not think about it. I still have a week or so to find someone." Without his consent his eyes drift back to Merlin who is laughing at something Will had said and hitting his shoulder.

"Yes," Morgana says as she places her mug on the tabletop. Arthur can almost taste the aura of smugness cloaking her and hear the smirk of her words before he sees it. "_Someone_ indeed..."

* * *

><p>"You know Morgana," Arthur says as he pulls into a free space outside the restaurant. "You could've worn something a little more appropriate." He throws a meaningful look at her outfit, even as she laughs and waves his attention away.<p>

"There's nothing wrong with what I am wearing," she answers breezily, exiting the car with grace. Arthur rolls his eyes and grumbles after her about shirt skirts and low cut necklines, grabbing his walking sticks. Really, he thinks, when he locks the car. Is it too much to ask for her to cover up a little bit instead of flaunting her attributes so shamelessly?

"I am twenty-six years old, Arthur," she says reprovingly when Arthur voices this. "The Big Brother look didn't work when I was fourteen, it won't work now."

"Doesn't mean I can't try," Arthur argues, vowing mentally to castrate any male in the restaurant, waiter or otherwise, who thinks peering down his sisters' cleavage would be a good idea – even Leon wouldn't be completely forgiven. They are both lead over to an almost full table when they arrive, the celebrating couple raising to greet them. Arthur eyes the long table, there is a free seat next to a woman Arthur assumes to be from Gwen's side of the family, who is quite possibly a cougar by the way she is lying Lancelot's younger cousin and a two between Merlin (seated next to Gwen's brother) and Leon, who Morgana is delighted to see and moves to greet straight away.

Gwen smiles, and gestures to the seats sweetly. "We thought we'd save a seat for you two with people you knew." If Arthur didn't know better, he would almost assume the look in her eye is conniving, but Gwen is obviously too sweet to plot and plan like that.

Yeah right.

Merlin had already looked up at their arrival and is sporting his usual grin. As Arthur approaching, he says, with all the seriousness in the world: "I bloody knew you were faking." Arthur pauses and quirks an eyebrow at his friend. "I bet you don't actually need that wheelchair*." He shakes his head in mock disapproval. There is a slight shift from a few people around the table, unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed – Arthur knows they are waiting to take their cue from him.

He laughs. "You're right, you've got me," he grins as he sits down. "I'm doing it for the benefits. Better parking and all." The few uncertain people within ear shot titter a little at the comment, feeling a little better about finding amusement in the comment. "Idiot."

Merlin grins at him, and claps his shoulder. "See, confession is good for the soul."

"I do feel a hundred times lighter," Arthur replies seriously, shaking his head. "Anyway, I hope you remember Morgana." Arthur leans back in his seat to reveal the dark-haired beauty, who had been watching the exchange knowingly.

Merlin throws him a withering look. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot." He then smiles at Morgana (and ignores Arthur "I'll believe that when I see it," and his curse when Merlin pinches his side). "Pleased to meet you, sorry about earlier, _some_ morons forget that at the coffee longue, I have to work and can't sit around sipping coffee all day, unlike _other_ people."

Arthur makes an offended noise, even as Morgana speaks over it. "It's fine. I've heard a lot about you, it's good to finally put a face to the name."

"Likewise, it seems you're the only person Arthur actually likes out of his family."

"'Like' is a very strong word," Arthur buts in, flashing his pearly whites at his sister and Merlin in turn.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Don't be an arse Arthur." He turns his gaze back to Morgana. "Has he always been like this?"

"What stubborn, moronic and emotionally constipated? Yes, I'm afraid he has. He gets it from his father."

"We share the same father," Arthur reminds her, eyes flicking to Merlin to take in his mirth and smiling at what he sees.

"Yes, we do, and clearly I am the one that turned out better. It's why he hasn't had another child you know," she says to Merlin. "He has me, why improve perfection?" Arthur shakes his head, you almost couldn't tell she hates Uther from the way she's speaking now, but, then he supposed, she isn't as emotionally free as she claims either. She too has fallen prey to the Pendragon traits of keeping mum about emotions to most others.

"I can see the resemblance," Merlin tells him after, that same twinkle in his eye after Morgana had turned away to flirt with Leon. Arthur raises an eyebrow in question. "You're both horribly arrogant. Is that another trait from your father? He seems like a peach, by the way."

Arthur snorts and throws his napkin at the grinning man. "I dare you to say that to his face."

"Oh, so I'll be meeting the family then?" Merlin comments lightly, pushing the napkin back towards its owner. Arthur stares at him, blinking and rattling off a drink he wants to the waiting server without taking his eyes off Merlin. There is a gleam in those blue eyes that Arthur is sure he recognises, but hasn't seen nearly as often as he used to. Merlin is quietly smiling; head tilted a little, watching as Arthur watches him.

"There's a possibility," he says carefully, levelly, gauging the reaction, "that you just might make the cut." Merlin only keeps that small, soft smile on his face as he moves onto another branch of conversation.

* * *

><p>The rest of the celebratory dinner – delayed by a few weeks due to family and other arrangements – passed without further incident. They are just finishing up desert when Lancelot grabs everyone's attention with a chime of cutlery against glass.<p>

"We wanted to say thanks to everyone coming tonight and to mention son or two things. Mine is for Arthur."

Arthur halts his conversation with Merlin about the cougar aunt and her endeavours to latch her claws into Lance's cousin throughout dinner, and looks up questioningly.

"We've been friends for years," Lancelot starts when he has Arthur attention. "And I want you to be my best man."

Arthur blinks before grinning. "Of course. Don't be put out when I outshine you though, Lance. Green never has been your colour." Lance laugh, a deep, proper laugh and moves around the table to clasp his friend by the hand.

"Thanks mate," he says, squeezing the blonds shoulder as well before returning to his seat. Gwen was next, announcing her choice of Maid of honour – Morgana beside them grinned brightly, and clapped her hand together once.

"I'd love to!" she exclaims, beaming at her friend and launching into a discussion across the table about the other bridesmaids and possible ideas. Lance just looks between them with a look of amusement and Arthur shares his look.

"You better not be expecting me to do anything like that." He nods his head in the girls' direction and Lance chuckles.

"If I have to hear it, so do you."

"It's your wedding," Arthur says in a voice that most definitely is not a whine. "You have to know. I don't." Lancelot just shrugs and Arthur falls back into his seat, most definitely not pouting.

"Quit pouting like a girl," Merlin comments slyly, but there is something in his tone that is a bit off. Arthur straightens and glances at the dark-haired man beside him, who had been, before he noticed Arthurs gaze a few microseconds after Arthur looked at him, staring at his mouth. There is a faint blush colouring his cheeks and tops of his ears now.

Well, damn. Merlin might be oblivious but Arthur is not. He smiles to himself.

"Merlin?" he pitches his voice a tone lower, leaning towards the man in an attempt to not be overheard – Morgana luckily is too engrossed in her conversation of colours and dress styles to take notice.

"Hmm?" That is also a tad odd in sound, a little too high to be natural.

"You are coming to dinner with me, tomorrow night. I'm getting you at seven – wear something smart."

Merlin eyes, which had been staring just over his shoulder, bounce over to his face.

"Now hold on, you massive prat, you can't just commandeer me –" Arthur cuts off the tirade with a small smile, not that Merlin's heart had been in it anyway.

"I can and I will."

Merlin sighs, shaking his head. "Fine," he concedes, sounding sulky, even as a smile twitches the corners of his lips. "But _you_ are paying."

Arthur hums his contented agreement.

* * *

><p><em>*I say this to my dad all the time. I also threaten to kick his sticks away from himpop the wheels off his wheelchair. He then says he is going to run over my toes and/or chases me down the street, veering off at the last second so he doesn't actually run into me. _

_Bless him. _

_I think sometimes people must think I am an abuser of the disabled. xD I enjoyed writing this part actually. I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. _


	5. The Elephant

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__Title comes from the phrase 'the Elephant in the room.' I hope you like this, I wasn't sure how to do this, whether have it straight into the date or not, I decided not to. Thought I'd stick with old Merlin baby in this one. That and I wanted to see a bit of Gaius. I like him, just pottering around with his potions and poisons. Bless him – I want to hug him. _

_So without further ado...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>The Elephant <strong>

**[5/6]**

The early morning cartoons fail to hold Merlin's attention like they usually do when the haze of waking up hasn't probably faded. The tea resting on his raised knee steams quietly and warms his palm and fingers. A small smile plays on his lips. He hadn't expected Arthur to demand a date like that, he hadn't expected there to be anything more than the friendly flirting they'd been playing with – he had thought it was just that, friendly flirting. After all Arthur had been a hotshot lawyer, still is pretty damn good looking and what is Merlin in comparison? A coffee boy, barely scraping by and living with his uncle until he can save up enough money to get his own place.

He swallows that negative thought with a mouthful of more palatable tea. He isn't going to do that thing that insecure people do – he isn't going to doubt himself and at the same time put Arthur on some kind of untouchable pedestal. Merlin is not that kind of person. Arthur and he have had many conversations both in person and through text, when they did finally swap numbers only a week or so before, and they get along. If the differences of lifestyle were going to affect their relationship, it would've happened by now.

The momentary dark cloud of doubt successfully dissipated by the obvious healing powers of tea and common sense (which most, quite unfairly, believe he lacks), Merlin smiles and settles back into the seat, shifting only to dislodge a pillow bulging uncomfortably on his back. He passed the hour or so leading up to the more acceptable hour of 10 o'clock watching mindless cartoons, snorting boyishly at the childish humour.

Gaius comes shuffling out of his room at quarter to ten, dressed in what Will would label 'Old Mans' Pyjamas.' Merlin looks up and grins.

"Morning," he says, voice heavy with implications. "What time did you get home last night then?" Gaius looks at the boy, eyebrow raised.

"Far later than you, it seems."

Merlin hums his agreement. "Must've had a better night then me." A sharp sting bites his head before he can duck away. He glares up at his uncle, rubbing his head with his free hand.

"Watch your mouth, boy," Gaius reprimands, responding more to the implications of Merlin's comment (his voice had been dripping with them, really) than his actual words. "You're not old enough that I won't wash your mouth out with soap." Merlin grins, but grumbles nonetheless about rough treatment and just what would Hunith say if she knew?

"She'd agree with me, Merlin," Gaius assures. Merlin turns back to the television and nods.

"Yeah she probably would. Hey," he turns again, leaning over the arm rest of the sofa and peering into the kitchen. "Do you know anything about mums' new... man?" He pulls a face that Gaius misses – it is just weird to think of his mother being with someone. For so long it had just been them two, with visits from Gaius every now and then. To think she had a man in her life...

He better be good enough for her and her happy, that's all Merlin worries about.

Gaius snaps the kettle lid closed and places it back on its base. "I wouldn't know," he answers. "I doubt Hunith would care much to tell me anything of the sort."

Merlin nods, and then grins. "Does she know about Alice?"

Gaius raises an eyebrow and stares at his nephew. "Does she know about Arthur?"

Merlin laughs. "Touché, old man." This time Merlin ducks before the hand can connect with his head. "Hey, enough with the abuse!"

"Then stop the stupid comments," Gaius says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Honestly, I wonder how you managed to get through school sometimes."

Merlin grins into his tea. "So do I," he agrees. A comfortable silence falls over the pair, a familiar clinking of metal against china as Gaius fixes his own tea and potters around the kitchen for food. Merlin however, is quite happy curled up on the sofa in an old vest top and his comfy, ugly, cotton jogging bottoms, balancing his now empty mug on his raise knee. This weekend in a rare free few days before the week beginning, Mrs. Dempsie having taken it upon herself to hire some Saturday (and Sunday, they work both) girls, who Will had the pleasure to train a few week prior so that he and Merlin would have time to look for a flat at reasonable hours.

Not that they are home-hunting this weekend. Will had been on a date last night (begged his excuses to Gwen, who remained stony at his missing of her celebratory dinner, before he had all but fallen to his knees in front of Lance, talking about exotic beauties and 'legs up to their armpits, Lance! Think of the _legs_!') and is probably still entertaining the fortunate (or unfortunate) lass, and would be occupied for the rest of the day, either pampering her or avoiding her after half throwing her out.

A real charmer Will could be at times. Merlin isn't looking forward to watching the parade women entering and exiting of their hypothetical shared flat – the Chandler (or unsuspecting Rachel, considering Merlin seems to get along with Will's dates better than he does at times) to Will's Joey.

Fun times to be had indeed.

* * *

><p>It is six minutes past seven when Arthur calls his mobile phone. Grinning. Merlin answers with an almost reprimanding: "You're late."<p>

"I'm having a sense of déjà vu," Arthur answers, voice a little tinny through the line. "Been watching _Pretty Woman_ recently?"

Merlin laughs. "Oh, too many times. It's Richard Gere – can't resist him."

"Are you Julia Roberts to my Richard Gere?"

"If cross-dressing is your kink," Merlin scoffs, grabbing his coat as Gaius stares at him with a knowing smile. Merlin is tempted to flip him off that will only incur more abuse. Merlin wouldn't believe the man is a doctor if he hadn't seen it himself. "Count me out. I'll have no part in it, you pervert."

"Those boots would look excellent on you, Vivian," comes the reply, the laughter dripping from every word. Merlin shakes his head as Arthur hangs up. He waves a goodbye to his uncle and is out of the door, a smile on his face.

He steps outside of his building, shifting his coat onto his shoulders more comfortably. He glances along the street, spotting a black Toyota 4x4 SUV parked, rather conspicuously in front of him. The drivers' window is down and Arthur is looking him up and down in a terribly obvious way. Merlin flushes under the scrutiny but rolls his eyes with a mumbled something that sound suspiciously like "pervert..."

"You look... presentable," Arthur says as Merlin climbs into the car, slams the door shut and stares at him. He thinks, absently, that he bloody well should look presentable. He'd had Gwen, who had darted over as soon was respectable, and dove into his closet, um-ing and ah-ing through his clothes until she had picked out his black silk shirt and dress trousers, saying the black bought out the blue of his eyes or something. It had taken many hurriedly agreed to promises about calling her with the gory details to get her out of the house and back to her soon-to-be-husband.

But the compliment, or as close as Arthur feels he can get to a compliment, is not what he is focused on. "You have an SUV."

"Yes Merlin, you're observation skills never fail to astound me. Buckle up."

Merlin does as he is told without argument. "But it's an SUV. I find it difficult to climb into these things, how do you manage?"

"Firstly I am not an idiot," Arthur replies as he pulls off the curb. "Secondly, I am not an idiot. I can climb stairs Merlin; I can climb into my own car. Besides, the roomy boot was necessary."

"But an SUV."

Arthur sighs in a very put-upon way, and shakes his head. "If this is all you are capable of saying, _Mer_lin, I will take you back home, label you helpless and move on. Pity, I had such hopes..."

Merlin laughs. "I'm just surprised; I figured you'd be in something _sleeker_."

"Hey, apologise immediately! She is sleek," Arthur retorts. "Very sleek, for a 4 by 4. Play nice or I'll throw you out."

"You'll choose the car over me."

Arthur grins wickedly. "Of course, she drives me places. What will you do?"

Merlin returns the grin perfectly. "Throw me out and you'll _never know_."

* * *

><p>Who knew Merlin – sweet, boyish Merlin with the childish grin – could be so <em>solicitous<em>? Arthur certainly didn't. He didn't expect it from him and yet the tone he had used in the car with his cheeky bloody smile and implied promises of things that are not to be thought about in public places...

He had underestimated Merlin that was for sure. And now he isn't certain he'll last the evening.

He had known, of course, that Merlin was attractive in a strange way. Anyone with eyes could see that, see the odd coltish limbs, long and slender; the trim, almost too thin waist, the lily white skin and electric blue eyes. Absent bits and pieces that are attractive and yet when put together are strange – but alluringly strange.

But dressed all in black, Merlin really comes into his own – his skin, that in any other colour or any other light might seem a tad sickly, is now ivory white and flawless. His blue eyes that glitter most days are a deep, piercing blue and shining. He almost looks like something out of a fairy story, all fey and ethereal. Untouchable and innocent, yet sinfully tempting and temptingly sinful.

Christ, and Arthur could laugh at himself – waxing poetry about Merlin the biggest idiot he knows. They walk towards the restaurant. Arthur has abandoned his wheelchair in eh boot, there is only a small way to walk and it doesn't bother him. He leans on his sticks – plain things, nothing special, can't be with the way he throws them around. Merlin doesn't bat an eyelash, just waited patiently beside the car and smiled when Arthur made his way over.

The insecurities are still there, lingering under the surface. Two years and Arthur's struggle with those niggling thought and over exaggeration of the attention he gets has only gotten a little better. Following the server now, Arthur feels the vague discomfort of being watched, even though he knows logically his own mind is amplifying the feeling.

Usually it doesn't affect him so, but the nerves he refused to admit are not helping calm things down and eventually Merlin turns around, just as the server gestures to their table and stares at him.

"You are freaking out, aren't you?" They had only spoken about this in brief small snatches, Arthur, reluctant to talk of something that he thinks is hideous and weak, always directs the conversation elsewhere. But Merlin still knew, had, Arthur imagines, gathered together from what Arthur hasn't said, that he still hasn't truly come to terms with his disability and the physical changes to his body. Still self-conscious.

When he and Merlin were just friends, he had been fine – but with the possibility of more, he finds his insecurities dragging back up. Since his accident, he had only stayed with Kay for a few months or so until Kay had split, saying Arthur was a changed man and unable to beware with the consequences of Arthur's accident.

"Really," Merlin is saying, hand on Arthur's even though it is curled around the handle of his walking stick, and guiding him to the table. "If anyone should be freaking out, it should be me. This is in French, Arthur, French! I can barely remember how to say 'hello' in French let alone translate a menu."

There is a pause. "I bet you chose this place on purpose because of that, you arse."

Arthur just laughs, "I live to make your life more difficult." Still the discomfort hasn't faded although Merlin is making a valiant effort to distract him from it. Kay wouldn't have tried – didn't try – just told him he was being stupid.

"Besides, I really do not belong in a fancy-pants place like this..."

"Not with that language," Arthur agrees and flashing a smile that doesn't fool Merlin. The dark haired man puts down the menu and stands, moving around the table before leaning forward.

"As you're so worried, let's give them something to really stare at, eh?" Merlin grins and before Arthur can make any noise to indicate an answer, soft lips are pressed to his own and a hand curling at the back of his neck in his hair. Merlin lingers there, quite content it seems, stroking soothing patterns on the back of Arthur's neck and licks absently at the seam of Arthur lips before pulling away and grinning impishly.

"Now," he declares in a voice a tad louder than it should be, in case the patrons are in fact watching. "Help me translate this and, I swear, if you order me snails, I _will_ hurt you."

Arthur licks his lips, catching the taste of Merlin before laughing and shaking his head. "What about frogs' legs?

Merlin throws the napkin at him, calling him a bastard even as Arthur leans forward a bit to point out various dishes he thinks Merlin would like.

In the back of his mind the insecurities settle and fade.

* * *

><p>Arthur's main of '<em>boef bourguignon*<em>' has just arrived when Merlin asks, in a curious voice and a slightly hesitant tone that tells Arthur that should he wish it, Merlin will drop the subject: "S, how did you get into the accident. I mean, I now it was on a motorbike but... what happened?"

Arthur takes a sip of the red wine and nods his thanks to the waiter, contemplating the answer. "It was in November a couple of years ago and I was coming back from a friends' – Gwaine, who lives an hour or so away, you'll meet him at Lance's wedding, no doubt – and it was raining. I had recently bought the motorbike, wanted to show it off a little, I guess. I got a little too cocky in the country lanes, and went faster than required around a fairly sharp corner. The tyres slipped and I was thrown off."

Arthur chews on a bit of beef, before continuing. "I would have been fine, but the jacket I was wearing didn't have a back plate – I was actually waiting for that new jacket to come through. If I had it, I would have gotten off with maybe a few skin grafts, possibly not even that."

Arthur looks at Merlin, who is simply absorbing the story. Again, there is no pity, but Arthur no longer looks for won't be there. Merlin instead looks contemplative. He nods, curiosity satisfied.

"Thank you for telling me. But, one more question."

"You are insatiable, Merlin," Arthur grins.

"Like you wouldn't believe." Arthur nearly chokes, much to Merlin's amusement. He seems to find great pleasure now, in slipping in a random comment that could be misconstrued and delighting in Arthur's reactions. A part of Arthur wants him to stop, but the larger part allows him to carry on. After all, it nurtures a very _pleasant_ image in his mind – although probably not appropriate for such a setting.

"But the insecurities, I can understand where they come from but you were fine before. Why...now?"

Arthur is ready to refuse but then reconsiders. This is Merlin, Merlin who doesn't seem bothered by the wheelchair, by the near less legs and the damnable squeak of his callipers.

"An ex," Arthur says eventually with difficulty that Merlin notices. He briefly touches Arthur's hand and retracts it, just a touch of comfort nothing more. "We were together, I had the accident, he couldn't handle it."

Merlin makes a disgusted noise. "Bastard, that ex of yours," he comments, drinking his own wine, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. "I wouldn't do that to you." He whispers this and Arthur is unsure whether or not he was meant to hear it. But he is glad that he did, and a smile plays on his lips.

"You're such a _girl _Merlin," Arthur teases. "Going to start quoting _Pretty Woman_ at me now?"

Merlin laughs. "Only if you wear the heels."

* * *

><p>Merlin is pressed against his door distracting him with his kisses, which, while being very nice and everything, is rather detrimental to the whole 'unlocking and opening the door' idea. But then again, when you have a Merlin kissing you as thoroughly as Arthur did, all practised, eager lips with touches of tongue and electric bites and wandering hands that believe they have permission to be everywhere and anywhere they please (they do, Christ they do!), opening the door seems rather unimportant. One of Arthur's hands is pressed to the wall beside the door to support himself and other slips under Merlin's shirt to press into the base of his back, dragging Merlin's lower body into him.<p>

"Merlin," Arthur pulls away just enough to speak. "Merlin, we really should get inside." Merlin sighs, nods, and crushes his lips to Arthur once more, hard, before slipping from Arthur's hold. Arthur isn't sure whether he is thankful or annoyed that Merlin acquiesced. But he isn't really left to ponder much because Merlin brushes past him in a way that is very much _not _innocent into his flat.

Thinking of Merlin as a child before now seems so very wrong.

Arthur follows after, closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall even as Merlin steps up to him. He meets the dark haired man half way, his hand cupping the smooth jaw and smiling into the kiss. Merlin's hands have latched into his hips, his face titled upwards because, when standing, Arthur is just an inch or so bigger.

Which Arthur rather likes, until, you know, Merlin presses the length of his body against Arthurs' and all though flies from his mind. There is instead only heat and too many clothes and lips that are far too distracting. Warmth curls in his stomach, a pleasant thrill of pleasure shooting up his spine like electricity when Merlin drags his nails across the sensitive flesh of his sides that way, or nips at his neck that.

Then Merlin's hands are drifting again and Arthur curses even as Merlin chuckles thickly into his neck. "Just checking it was all fully functional," his words are brilliantly breathless and lips plump and red from the assault.

"Bastard," Arthur snarls, but he can't bring himself to be mad or offended at the comment because Merlin flexes his fingers – and _Christ_, does _that_ feel good – and Merlin is breathing on his neck and all he can touch and taste and smell is _MerlinMerlinMerlin. _He is _everywhere_, and it's fucking _amazing_ –

Until he prances away like a devil, a wicked, wicked glint in his eyes and a slow, naughty smile on his face.

"Merlin," it's a low warning, a guttural growl, and Merlin closes his eyes for an instant before they open and he is turning and fucking _sauntering _past the kitchen and into the living room. He stops at Arthur's bedroom door (only so well versed in Arthur's flat after Arthur had forgotten his phone once and Merlin had accompanied him back during his break), looks at Arthur, who is wondering just how difficult he might find walking now that his trousers are tighter than a second skin, and smiles.

"Well, whenever you're _ready_, Arthur..." And those blue eyes are practically smouldering, Arthur can feel the fire from them from here and he curses and Merlin disappears into the confines of his bedroom. "Lord, have mercy," Arthur mutters before following the tenacious Merlin and vowing to punish him for his antics.

_Very _thoroughly.

* * *

><p>The room smells of sex and sweat and Arthur is feeling very self-satisfied after making good on his vow – twice. Merlin is laying on his front beside him, hugging the pillow his head is resting on with a glaze to his eyes that Arthur is very proud of. They aren't hugging – they are too hot and sticky with all kinds of things for that and instead, lie close enough to touch but with enough room for at least a little air flow to attempt to cool them.<p>

"Don't usually do that, you know." Arthur looks away from the ceiling to Merlin's face. His eyes are closed now, his hand on Arthur's chest and Arthur's hand over it – a weirdly romantic gesture for the pair who have only just had one date. As if sensing the questioning brow, Merlin smiles and continues.

"I mean have sex with someone on the first date – it... I don't usually do that."

"I know."

"I just... you..."

Arthur laughs. "I know, Merlin. I'm irresistible." Merlin slaps him in retribution before making a satisfied noise, content now that he has thwarted any thought of perceived sluttiness, not that Arthur had any. A comfortable silence falls over them and Arthur continues to looks at the dozing Merlin.

"You're coming to my fathers' birthday party next Saturday."

Merlin smiles. "Very demanding, you Pendragons."

"It's something you get used to."

Merlin pats his chest twice. "'Spose I'll have to, yeah. Better make it worth my while, though."

Arthur just laughs, happier then he has been in a long time.

* * *

><p><em>*Honestly the French eat nothing but stew I swear. I tried looking up French food but all it gave me was stew 0_0 Maybe I was searching it wrong. <em>

_Anyway. Um... I hope you guys liked this and it lived up to expectations and what not. Please be brutally honest if you think it wasn't – tell me and I'll improve it, after all I write for myself but I write for you guys more. _

_Thanks. On to the next part; it should be out in a few days, along with the two one shots. :]_

_I'll be sad to see this end...  
><em>


	6. The Wedding

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC._

_**Notes: **__*ahem* SORRY FOR THE DELAY! I had a lack of motivation this past week or two. Forgive me. _

_Oh my god! I can't believe this is ending! I am very proud of this work, I think. At some point, I may look back and cringe, like I do when I look back at 'Black Flames' (*shudders*), but for the moment I am proud aha._

_Thank you all for all your lovely reviews and favourite-ing and everything. Thank you for reading and sticking with it and all that jazz. I write for myself yes, but I write for you guys more and just wow. Thank you all. It's been a pleasure._

_Until next time, ay?  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>The Wedding <strong>

**[6/6]**

The ceremony had been a beautiful affair. Outside in the courtyards of the Du Lac's ancestral home – a building that was stunning in all its upper-class, expensive luxury which made Merlin nose wrinkle and his eyes roll – Gwen and Lancelot had 'tied the knot,' cradled by a pretty white arch laced with white roses and the sun blessing the event with its presence.

Morgana had stunned in a well fitting purple strapless dress, her long black curls cascading down her right shoulder and modest make-up. Arthur had to force himself to ignore the rather inappropriate wink she sent Leon's way as she sashayed past and all the implications instead chanced a glance over his left shoulder to Merlin who was grinning knowingly at him. The boy had nodded his head at Morgana and smiled appraisingly, before turning those eyes on Arthur to watch his reaction.

Arthur's hand did not tighten on his stick in a spark of jade jealousy as Merlin laughed silently at him. Rolling his eyes, Arthur had then turned his gaze to the bride, who had transformed from an understatedly pretty girl, into a radiant beauty who caused even Arthur's eyes to follow her – although it was, admittedly, in the same kind of abstract appreciation of beauty has he had for Morgana and not the openly stunned looks of say, Will.

Lancelot had been beaming the entire time, and although he may deny it later, Arthur knows he saw the welling of tears in his eyes and is certain it wasn't just him who heard the cracking in his voice as he recited his vows.

And now the ceremony and wedding breakfast is over (including the bloody speech he had had to write a few nights before. Merlin had been over as he had done it, distracting him and laughing over his shoulder before convincing him that there were other things to attend to. The same behaviour had continued today, Arthur could see him outside in his periphery chuckling into his hand), people have congregated in the dining hall. A DJ has set up at one end of the room and a grouping of tables in the other, leaving enough room for dancing. The double doors to the right, near the DJ, open up into a games' room with a fully stocked bar where Lancelot's parents have stocked up enough alcohol to ensure each and every guest gets more than adequately slaughtered if they so wish.

Arthur is sitting at one of the tables closest to the dance floor, watching the newly married couple take their first dance. They whisper to each other, words and sentiments that no one else can hear over the music, that make both laugh and Gwen blush prettily. He watches them with a quiet kind of envy, watching Lancelot's legs and feet with wistfulness he doesn't often indulge in before a hand sliding onto his shoulder distracts him.

He doesn't often think about his disability like he had before. Merlin interruption in his life, a whirlwind really of personality, teasing and a sheer determinism to not let Arthur's disability get in the way, has all but fully cured him. Insecurity still plagues him, but it doesn't niggle anymore, just a assign whisper that doesn't cut as deep. He does more with his days then he had before, egged on by Merlin, who doesn't say he is proud or happy, but has a certain look in his eye whenever Arthur tells him about his day. It's nice, he thinks, in a kind of twee way not wholly acceptable for a Pendragon.

"You scrub up rather well," comes Merlin's teasing voice before he moves around Arthur, drags out a seat and sits down.

"So do you," Arthur says. He doesn't take in Merlin's outfit, he had done that earlier, eyes shamelessly skimming his lovers' body, taking in the white shirt and skinny black tie that Merlin – king of old tops, worn jumpers and baggy jeans – had definitely borrowed, and the black trousers that were different from the ones he had worn to dinner on their first date, or any date since then. Arthur feels a little cheated he has never seen these trousers before, they accentuate Merlin's rather pleasant arse beautifully.

Although now, Merlin has now loosened his tie and undone a few buttons at his neck to reveal more milky white skin. Which is just unfair.

When Arthur drags his eyes back up from the tempting display, Merlin is grinning at him with a look in his eyes that says he knows exactly what distracted him. Arthur clears his throat.

"Where's Will?"

Merlin shrugs, glancing around. "I have no idea, probably trying to chat someone up, probably. He is allergic to monogamy." Arthur stifles a small, mocking grin quickly – Will and he will never get along. They both vie for Merlin's attention, preening when they win and sulking when they don't. It's a tag-of-war with Merlin in the middle. He usually just steps back and watches with exasperated fondness, and stepping in when things get a little to troublesome with threats. He doesn't know what he says to Will, but after the reprimanding warning, Will is always flushing a little so Arthur can only guess it's something Merlin knows that maybe Will doesn't want his mother to know. He threatens Arthur with sleeping on the sofa – which he had challenged before and found out that it wasn't as idle as he believed. What smarted the most was that it had been his own sofa.

Both threats however, whatever Will's may be, are more often than not enough to quieten them into a cold politeness.

Arthur makes a non-committal noise and Merlin smiles. "I know you don't like him, Arthur, but one of you needs to the bigger man so to speak, and Will won't. He has the mentality of a five year old."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "It goes without saying that I am the _bigger _man, Merlin."

Merlin snorts. "Prat," he says fondly, moving his chair so that he is no longer sitting with his back to the dance floor. Lancelot is now dancing with his mother and Gwen with her brother. Others have filtered onto the dance floor as well, guests moving with their partners or friends, laughing and grinning – some are a little unstable even now, obviously enjoying the wine and drinks offered. Music with beats found more commonly in clubs mix with the more cheesy numbers that are typical of a party.

"It was a nice ceremony. I'm happy for them," Merlin says. Sentiment has always been his forte more than Arthur's. He has the same kind of starry-eye look that would look more at home on an adolescent females face than a grown mans'.

"Got wedding fantasies Merlin?"

Merlin flashes a grin without looking away from the dance floor. "I think you'd look amazing in a dress Arthur."

"I would not be the bride, Merlin. We both know that."

"I dunno, I did see you shed a little tear at Moulin Rouge." Merlin doesn't dodge the playful punch to his shoulder quick enough. "Fuck you."

That cheeky grin should be banned. "Only if you ask nicely," Merlin throws back at him even as Gwen sweeps over to them.

"Dance with me, Merlin," she asks, cheeks flushed with pleasure and hand extended. Merlin smiles and takes it although Arthur can see the slight panic in his movements. "I expect a dance with you to, Mr. Pendragon," she continues. Arthur laughs and nods his head in agreement.

"Whatever the bride wishes." She beams before dragging Merlin to the dance floor, who looks back at Arthur and looks panicky. Arthur simply raises his glass at him and smirks even as Merlin shakes his head at him, mouthing punishments before Gwen spins him around, swinging their arms and encouraging Merlin to move.

"Arthur, mate." Lance is a little merry, Arthur can tell by the way his hand slaps a little too heavily on his shoulder and how his grin is wider than normal – of course that could just be a side-effect of a die-hard romantic finally getting married to the woman he has pined over since they first met.

Arthur claps his own hand over his friends, before letting it fall and watching as Lancelot leans against the table. His dark eyes are on the dance floor, namely, his new wife and Merlin – who has all the grace of a two legged cat, but is laughing good-naturedly along with Gwen who is undoubtedly making comments.

"I can't believe we've finally done it." his eyes are shining and Arthur wonders if sometime tonight he will get the 'you're-my-best-friend-I-love-you' speech. "I bloody love that woman."

"I know," Arthur smiles. "We're all happy for you."

Lancelot makes a pleased noise and nods his head. "What about you and Merlin, then?" Lancelot moves towards Arthur to presumably nudge him, but misjudges the distance and staggers a little. "He's met the folks and everything. How'd your father take it."

Arthur shrugs. "As well as he could at such an event. He had a few choice words afterward, but Merlin held his own." There is a smugness that Lancelot recognises, and a fierce kind of pride that he doesn't, at least not when applied to people outside of Arthur's family or himself. He hadn't heard him speak of a partner in such a way at least – but then, Lancelot has never really met more than one or two of Arthur's partners.

And it's then that Lancelot really takes in his friend. On the surface there seems to be no difference – he is still proud and egotistical, but there is a strangeness there, a newness that Lancelot has seen only a few times before.

He smiles. He should've seen this really. Merlin brings it out in everyone.

Lancelot leans over his friend, who is smiling faintly at Merlin, who is dancing in an inexplicable way and laughing, even as he glances to the side to catch Arthur's eye. "You love him."

It isn't a question.

Arthur straightens, frowning a little at Lancelot. "I think it's a bit early for that."

"It's been a couple of months." Lancelot settles back again. "But you do you know. He loves you too, I reckon."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "What, now you're married you're an expert on relationships?"

Lancelot shakes his head. "Nope, but I do know a lot about you. And besides, he is the only one you have invited back to meet your father."

"I needed a date," he argues.

"There are plenty of women you could've chosen, you have before."

Arthur pulls a face. "They would've... bored me. Merlin is good for entertainment."

"I bet that's not all he is good at," Lancelot comments mildly, smirking a little. Arthur starts. Lancelot, despite being friends with both Arthur and Gwaine has never really been one for innuendo, even when drunk. But then the surprise fades and the old, familiar pike of jealousy that he has since learnt to control since the few relationships he had when he was younger, flares a little.

"Settle down boy, I'm a married man," Lancelot laughs. "Possessive bastard." Lancelot smiles a little, gazing at his friend. He has come a far way since his accident, the first few months having been filled with a desolate depression. Since Merlin, he has only improved further, no longer exaggerated the attention he may or may not get, going out and doing things – like joining a wheelchair basketball team to keep up fitness and accompanying Merlin and Will on one or two of their thrill seeking adventures. He has a sense of calmness about him that Lancelot hasn't seen for a while yet, a sense of contentment and achievement he hasn't seen since Arthur took his first steps after the accident in physical therapy.

"He's good for you, Arthur. Don't let your fear of – well, whatever it is you fear – get in the way." Lancelot straightens, and he smiles. "Now, I am going to reclaim my wife. You better get up there dancing soon, or I'll drag you up." Lancelot flashes a smile.

Arthur watches pensively, as Merlin concedes his hold on Gwen, claps Lancelot on the shoulder as he undoubtedly congratulates them one more time before he turns and smiles at Arthur.

Love, huh?

* * *

><p>It's far into the evening, and Arthur has stuck to the soft drinks. But he has watched with amusement as Will and Lancelot and Elyan and anyone else who wants to plies Merlin with more alcohol and the dark haired man gets more and more giggly and uncoordinated. He leans heavily into Arthur, who is leaning in turn against the bar, and laughs at a comment made by someone neither Merlin nor Arthur has ever met before.<p>

Arthur has, in the past hour or so, despite watching with mirth, swapping the alcoholic beverages people get him and replacing them with a simple coca-cola. After all, it wouldn't do for Merlin to pass out this evening when he is wearing those bloody trousers. Even his odd flailing dance doesn't detract from the niceness of those trousers and his bum.

Arthurs hand is around his waist as an extra support as Merlin's legs seem to have a mind of their own and absent fingers trace a short line over hips that are still a bit too bony for Arthur's comfort. The boy is soberly well and his words are no longer slurred even though his eyes still retain a glaze not unlike the kind he get during other activities or the faint flush of his cheeks.

The conversation is flowing surprisingly well for a group of decidedly drunk people, and Arthur mostly stays out of it – the twisted logic of drunkards will only turn a sober man insane – only presses a kiss to Merlin's temple once or twice to get his attention on what drink he'd like.

It doesn't take long for the girls of the group to bring up the conversation of sex – or lack of it – with their boyfriends or ex-boyfriends and the two other men (both boyfriends) shaking their heads as their girlfriends gossip, making indignant noises or poking fun at each other.

"You two are so cute," one girl (Arthur thinks she is single, but he isn't sure) coos to Merlin. "If you weren't taken I would eat you up. Same for your boyfriend. All the cute guys are either gay or taken."

Merlin laughs. "Don't tell him that, he has got a big enough head all ready." One of the men makes a comment no one else but his girlfriend hears. But they all hear the admonishment. But neither of the insulted men rises to the bait. Arthur has long since gotten over his sexuality, and Merlin just couldn't care less.

There is however, one comment that gets Arthur's attention and his hackles raised, ready for a fight.

"You talking about sex with a cripple, doubt he could get it up." The men who'd spoken had been hanging around the bar for nearly the whole night and staggered over as if a part of their group but hung on the outside. His words are slurred, almost indistinguishable and eyes hazy and unfocused. The girls, and the boyfriend who hadn't spoken before surprisingly, instantly rise to Arthur's defence.

Arthur clears his throat and Merlin looks at him, touching his hand as if to remind him that yes, it was insulting, but that they are at a wedding. He probably suspected Arthur to react the way he would've before, in the way he was considering now – which was to show him exactly how capable this fucking cripple was by beating the shit out of him. But Arthur only smiled at his lover before staring the man in front of him.

"You say that, and yet who is here with someone? You might want to stop the drinking or _you_ will be unable to 'get it up.' Or is that why you are drinking?" It isn't necessarily the words that makes the man shrink back into the shadows, but the cold tone in which they are spoken and the glare that accompanies them. Arthur Pendragon is no fool to be cowed by idiots – he had once been a prosecutor of the highest standard, known for the way he could break down witnesses and criminals in the courtroom – and he does not take kindly to insults, especially by someone so much lower than himself.

Perfect, cool delivery of an insult and those eyes that are usually so warm, are suddenly ice, all the scorn and derision in the world focused on one person. Looking on, Merlin is certain the man must now feel about two feet tall. The way that he cringes and steps back certainly says so. When the man looks away, so does Arthur, looking back around the circle of people that had been talking before and continuing starting up another conversation as if nothing happened. A small part of Arthur, the insecure part, flinched at the comment, those old whispers about people never wanting a cripple; no one would want the hassle or the trouble flares for but a moment before Arthur remembers the warm, pliant body against him.

There is such a person and he holds him now. He smiles just as Merlin turns his head slightly and grins at him. There is a look in his eyes that says he is trying to be reprimanding, but can't quite bring himself to do it. Instead, Merlin just laughs, shakes his head and kisses Arthur's cheek before delving into the conversation of bad presents once more.

His hand, which had been used so exaggerate his words, however, stays on Arthur's.

* * *

><p>The words Lancelot spoke earlier have been on Arthur's mind for the whole evening. They didn't detract from the night, or distract him, but they were there. Wonderings and musing flittering through his head like butterflies whenever he looked at Merlin, or Gwen and Lancelot or any of the other couples that attended. He has loved before – he loved Jason when he was younger, loved Tristan and Kay as well. He has loved before and has no fear against it.<p>

Well, now that he has thought about it – he has never told someone directly that he loves them. He has made gestures, said it in a round-about way, but never those three condemning words in succession. He doesn't know why. He has felt love but never vocalised it.

But that doesn't mean anything. There is no fear there, it is just the way that he is – Uther has never been one to declare love for people either.

As for taking Merlin to meet his father and the she-troll, well he hadn't been lying. The girls he could've invited would have bored him and the girls he might've wanted to invite are already partnered up and so both of them would have to endure questioning from his father and Catrina.

Merlin is entertainment – the way he fumbled through the formalities in his country-bumpkin kind of way, winning smiles and endearments simply for being himself was funny. And those that didn't approve, Merlin simply grinned at anyway, shrugging it off as nothing – which is probably the worst snub those kinds of people could get. He is amusing to watch and Arthur can't help but laugh at his antics.

He wasn't afraid of Merlin meeting his father. He knows that whilst Merlin looks deceiving with his innocent smiles and bright eyes, he really is more observant then people give him credit for. He is stronger than people would think and has a quicker and sharper tongue then most would expect. He never feared for Merlin like he would've for the others, because Merlin is not easily cowed by intimidation and he had proven as such afterwards when Uther Pendragon had tried to throw his weight around and govern Arthur's lie and choice as he had done when Arthur was a boy.

And Uther had been impressed, although he would never admit it. Arthur had seen the disappointment in his eyes that Arthur had spilled his secret and no chance of a daughter-in-law, but there had been a faint approval in his eyes as well when Merlin held up under his razor tongue and also not interfered when Arthur and his father butted heads.

Kay would've interfered and lost any respect Uther may have had for him, because obviously interfering would infer that he believed Arthur not strong enough to fight his own battles. Tristan would have crumbled eventually under his fathers' glares and comments, snide things that Merlin deflects easily but Tristan would've taken to heart. And there isn't much point considering Jason, he had loved him yes but that was never meant to last – Arthur acknowledged that even back then.

"Arthur, let's go home." Merlin tugs him out of his thoughts, forehead resting on his shoulder. "I am bloody knackered." Arthur smiles and nods.

The pair makes their rounds, saying goodbye to whoever is left out on the dance floor and to the happy couple before making their way out to the car park. Arthur considers Merlin, goofy, childish Merlin. It's been a few months since that first meeting in the pub, and they are still working through things. They haven't probably argued, but they have bickered and snapped at each other. Merlin is strangely attractive when he is angry, and Arthur does admit that he has a little game of how quickly he can turn Merlin from angry to horny. He has it just over a minute at the moment, but he will succeed in getting to under a minute.

He is annoying at times, Arthur won't deny. His optimism sometimes conflicts with Arthurs' determination to look firmly at reality, and he doesn't bend under Arthur's will, which is something Arthur is used to with the few idiots he has dated between the few gems (although Kay is no longer considered one of those). He is bloody minded and stubborn as a mule and doesn't let Arthur get away with all that he is used to, but Arthur can acknowledge it is probably for the best.

Merlin challenges him, pushes him, and accepts him. He encourages Arthur, interested him and, most importantly, keeps that interest alive. He makes mistakes, but so does Arthur. They talk through those mistakes, they talk about everything. With Merlin, Arthur has never quite been so open – he has never exposed such weakness to a partner because then they have all the power, and after his father need to control him in his early years before Arthur bit back, Arthur cannot stand it.

But unlike Kay, and Tristan who was at the other end of the scale, there is no power play. Instead there is a flow of power and shifts and alters when need be, and otherwise stays stable. As strange as it is, Merlin, the boy wonder, has made Arthur grow up. His possessive nature and jealousy is no longer as furious as before, he no longer feels so self-conscious or the insufferable pride that he had once more. His pride is of a different calibre now, is no longer a variation of arrogance.

"You really need to oil those callipers of yours," Merlin comments as he plugs in his seatbelt and rests his head back against the headrest, eyes closed.

Arthur smiles and studies the man beside him, the curve of his neck, the slightly unfortunate ears, the flawless skin –

"I love you. Idiot." Merlin deserves that much – besides, he doubts Merlin would get the more subtle ways Arthur had employed before.

Merlin's head shifts so that those eyes are focused on him and he smiles. "Ditto, prat," he grins, his hand resting on Arthur's thigh. "Now, about those callipers?"

Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls out of the parking space. He never told Kay or Tristan or Jason he loved them, because he hadn't been _in_ love with them. He never brought those men to his family home and introduced them to his father with confidence and trust, because he didn't have confidence in them or trust in them. He couldn't be sure they'd stand tall under his fathers' scrutiny.

He never done those things, because he never felt about them what he does for Merlin. And the stupid sentimental part of him, brought forth by the aforementioned man, doesn't think he will ever find someone quite like Merlin again, and he never wants to.

**The End. **

* * *

><p><em>And so it finishes. I HOPE IT DOESN'T DISAPPOINT! If it does tell me. I am a bit iffy on it, so it may get rewritten anyway. I will rewrite sooner if you guys are also disappointed. <em>

_Um, yeah. Just thanks for sticking with me through this, is really appreciated. I know I said I would post a fourteen part story on here, but I think I'll do the 6 parter first. It's a humour/romance, with Older!Merlin – not obscenely older called 'All's fair.' But yes. Thank you for reading this, I hope this ending hasn't disappointed, if you think it has please tell me, I am considering rewriting it anyway so you won't offend me. _

_Thanks again. :]_


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